Title Pending
by Quickening
Summary: Things get interesting at the Last Chance Garage when Charley's cousin decides to attend college in Chicago. The bros have never met anyone quite like Alley before, and she's definitely not met anyone like them. They'd like to hit it off, but she seems less than interested. What's a bro got to do to get a little attention around here? OC/somebody, Charley/Vinnie
1. One

_There are other stories I ought to be working on, but this idea has been rattling around in my brain for awhile now, and I figure the only way to get it to leave me alone is to actually sit down and _write_ it. It's still sort of half-assed and still in development (don't even have a title yet), but I'll post what I have as I have it. Besides, there isn't nearly enough Biker Mice fanfiction out there. Must do my part to increase the fandom, no matter how old it might be._

_FYI, this takes place sometime during the original series. I've watched as much of it as I could find, and as much of the 2006 series as I could find, but I'm aware there are big chunks missing out of it as most of the episodes have seemed to vanish into the ether. At least an entire season or so is missing (that actually ends the first series). I've done my best to keep true to the characters and all, but info on them is also hard to come by, so I've had to go by what I could find and sort of guess at the rest. Apologies for any inconsistencies. Feel free to point them out in a PM or something._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Biker Mice from Mars or any of its characters. I do, however, own Alley. Yes, there's an OC in this fic and she will likely be hooking up with one of the mice. Just don't ask me which one yet, 'cause I don't know. _

_I'm not making any profit from this story, I'm merely writing it because my muse is a slave-driving little bitch who suffers from severe ADHD and can't make up her mind on what I'm supposed to be working on next. No _wonder_ I never get anything finished._

* * *

Chapter One

When the trio rumbled up to the Last Chance Garage, they were greeted with the sight of Charley setting a box down on the curb, just beside a pile of other boxes. "Hey, Sweetheart! Didja miss me?" Vinnie called with a cheeky grin.

Charley snorted. "Oh, sure. It's been a whole twelve hours since I saw you. I've been pining away for your obnoxious self ever since," she retorted, brushing off her hands.

"Ouch, babe. That cuts deep." Vinnie dramatically pressed a hand to his heart, shaking his head sadly. Charley's lips twitched as she rolled her eyes and turned to stalk back into the garage.

"Doin' a little housekeeping, Charley-girl?" Throttled dubiously eyed the teetering stack of boxes over his field specs.

"As a matter of fact, I'm cleaning out all the junk stored in the spare room. You guys are just in time to help," she replied sweetly.

Vinnie didn't even try to hide his dismayed groan, and was rewarded with a smack across the back of his head, courtesy of Modo's metal hand. He yelped and glared, rubbing his skull as he followed the big gray mouse into the garage.

"We'll be glad to help out, Charley Ma'am," Modo said. "But why the sudden clear-out?"

"I'm expecting company." Charley riffled through a shoebox, wrote something on the lid with a black Sharpie, and stacked it in a corner with a few others like it. "She'll need a place to crash, and this is the only spare room I've got."

The mice glanced at each other. "This the part where you tell us to get lost for awhile until the coast is clear?" Throttle asked.

Charley glanced at him, surprised. "Of course not! This place is practically your home, too. I wouldn't kick you out just like that," she scolded lightly. "Besides, she'll be staying for awhile."

"So … you'll be telling your friend about us?" The trio glanced at each other uneasily. They weren't entirely keen on the idea of _yet another_ human being knowing of their existence. They'd managed to remain fairly inconspicuous so far, but their luck wouldn't hold out forever.

"Relax, fellas." Charley rested her crossed arms on the pile of larger boxes stacked on the floor, regarding them with a whimsical smile. "No need to get your tails in a knot. Alley's my cousin. She's moving out here from Florida to attend college. I offered her a place to stay to help save on living costs. Why pay even more money for boarding when I've got a perfectly good room going to waste?"

The trio relaxed. Any family member of Charley's automatically made her an extended member of their own. "You think she'll like us?" Vinnie asked, always anxious to make a good impression. Or _any_ impression, really, good or otherwise.

Charley pursed her lips in thought. "Well, I'll definitely have to warn her about you three before you actually meet each other," she replied slowly. "Honestly, I have no idea how she'll react. I haven't actually _seen_ her face-to-face for almost ten years."

"Why so long?" Modo looked troubled; probably thinking of his own family, whom he hadn't seen in a long while, either. "Don't seem right, not seein' your family for so long."

_Especially since you're all on the same planet_ was left unspoken, but Charley understood, and she offered him a sympathetic smile. "Can't be helped. Her parents relocated to Florida, and not long after that I packed up and moved to Chi-town. Been so busy, I haven't had time for family get-togethers. They're all on the other side of the States. And between running the Last Chance and everything that's been happening with Limburger, well … time just sorta passed without me noticing." She shrugged. "Anyway, we've kept in touch through email and such. When she told me she'd decided to attend college in Chicago, I offered her the guest room."

"So when's she arrivin'?" Modo asked.

"She's on her way as we speak, actually. But she's driving cross-country, so it'll take her a few days to get to Illinois. She thinks she'll be here by Saturday. So do me a favor and hide out at the scoreboard over the weekend, 'til I get her settled in and have a chance to talk to her."

"Will do, Charley-girl."

"Thanks, guys." Charley hefted a box and plopped it into Vinnie's arms. "In the meantime, there's plenty of stuff to shift around. How about you three work on clearing out this room? I've already marked where everything needs to go, either the hall closet or the curb for trash pickup."

"And what will you be doing while we're up here doing the manual labor?" Vinnie grumbled as Charley descended the ladder leading into the garage.

"What else? Earning a living by fixing busted engines! This garage doesn't run itself, ya know!"

* * *

Saturday rolled around, and Charley spent most of it hammering the dings out of a sleek black Mustang that had unfortunately met the wrong end of a truck, mostly due to the careless driving of the Mustang's owner. The drivers of both vehicles had miraculously managed to get away with nothing more than one broken nose, a shattered collarbone, and a few cracked ribs. The cars, however, hadn't been so fortunate. She'd already managed to put the mangled insides of the Mustang back together, which had felt more like reassembling a jigsaw puzzle than a car and had taken from early morning until well after dinner to complete. All that was left was the heavily-damaged body, which was laying in pieces around her, waiting to either be repaired or simply carted off to the junkyard and replaced. She hadn't even started on the truck yet. One good thing about being one of the only operating garages this side of Chi-town; there was always business. She had to admit, though, that she did wish at least one other garage would open nearby and give her a break from her sometimes-overwhelming workload.

The purr of an approaching engine caught her attention. Well, it wasn't a purr so much as a sick-sounding rumble. Somebody seemed to be having car trouble. She glanced at the clock on the wall over the service desk. It was nine forty-five, long past closing-time. And long past due for her cousin to show up. She frowned and rose from her seat, stretching the kinks out of her back as she walked to the door. Then she stood and stared with her mouth slightly agape as a huge green, pink, and yellow flowered … _monstrosity_ of a classic Volkswagen Bus pulled up, coughing and grinding to a halt. There was a sputter, as of the beast giving up its last, wheezing breath; a hiss of smoke and steam rose from its backside, and then the front door opened and a young woman climbed awkwardly out of the driver's seat, hopping to the ground with a triumphant "Made it!"

Charley blinked in astonishment at the blond-haired woman, who was nearly as colorful as her ride with her mid-length hair liberally streaked in rainbow hues, and a flowing white peasant top and stonewashed jeans embroidered with flowers and butterflies. "A-Alley Cat?" she stammered.

The girl grinned. "Well, look at you! Aren't you the regular grease monkey," she teased, eyeballing Charley's work-stained appearance.

Charley relaxed and grinned back. "I almost didn't recognize you for a moment. Boy, you sure grew up, huh?" Alley stood almost as tall as she did, and in no way resembled the twelve-year-old tomboy who had followed her everywhere and constantly tackled her into wrestling matches when they were growing up.

"You sure you didn't just shrink?" Alley shot back, and Charley snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes. "I see your smart mouth didn't change much, though."

"Never! It's my most attractive feature."

"C'mere, you." Before Alley could protest, Charley pulled her into a brief hug, careful not to get grease on the younger woman's clothes. "It's so good to see you! How're things in Florida? How're Uncle Chuck and Aunt Viv doing?"

"Florida is … Florida. Hot. Sticky. Lots of old people driving around who really shouldn't be legally _allowed_ to. My parents are doing great, though. Dad's detail shop is as popular as ever, and Mom's still a regular homebody. As you would _know_ if you ever bothered to _call _once in a while."

"Yeah, yeah. I told you it's been a little crazy around here for the last few years." Charley chuckled nervously, scratching her arm and wondering when would actually be a good time to _tell_ her cousin about the consistent alien invasions happening right under the government's nose, not to mention her alien house guests. She decided to change the topic for the moment, turning to the smoking bus. "So. From what hellhole did you manage to dig _this_ thing up? You didn't pay actual money for it, did you?"

"_Shhhh! _She'll hear you!" Alley lovingly stroked a stylized flower on the bus's door. "Priscilla is very sensitive, you know."

"Priscilla_?_" Charley couldn't keep the bark of laughter down.

"What? It's not like you've never named any of _your_ cars."

"Well, yeah … but _Priscilla_?"

"It's a classic name for a classic lady," Alley sniffed.

"Just how classic are we talkin' here?" Charley eyed the bus. "Early seventies model?"

"Late sixties, actually. Sixty-seven, I think? I found it and Dad repainted it for me as my sixteenth birthday present."

"Uh-huh. And how old are you now?"

"Just about to turn twenty!" Alley announced proudly.

Charley circled the bus, shaking her head. "What happened? When did the trouble start?"

"It was doing great the first three days, but today I was driving only a few hours and it started acting up. Had to stop a few times to let it cool down. I didn't think I was actually gonna make it today, but we managed to push through. Priscilla is very good like that."

"You probably should've taken it to an auto shop instead of going on. You might've just killed your engine," Charley scolded. "That smoke there? Generally _not_ a good thing to see coming from any engine, especially an antique like this."

"Uh, hello. I _did_ take it to an auto shop." Alley raised an eyebrow pointedly, and Charley rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Look, classes start in three weeks and I just wanted to get here and get settled so I can prepare for them. Besides, I know _you_ won't try and rip me off and tell me there's more work that needs done on the bus than actually does."

"I'm not so sure they'd actually be ripping you off," Charley sighed. "Well, I'll take a look at it, but it'll have to wait awhile. I've got my hands full at the moment. In the meantime, grab a couple of suitcases and I'll help you carry 'em up. I've got a room ready for you. It's pretty basic, but you can fill it out with what you need. We can unpack the rest of the van tomorrow."

"Will it be safe, sitting here overnight? This doesn't exactly look like the classier side of town."

"It isn't, but Priscilla will be safe enough for one night. She's not going anywhere in her condition. Unless you want to help me push her into the garage…?"

"Right. Tomorrow morning it is. Can you grab Mercedes from the front seat for me?"

"And who's Mercedes?" Charley teased as she opened the passenger door. "Your comput-_Jiminy_ _Christmas_, Ally! What the hell is _that_?"

Alley blinked at her cousin, who had jumped back from the bus as if she'd been yanked. "That's Mercedes. I did tell you I'm bringing a pet with me, didn't I?"

Charley pressed a hand to her heart, releasing a deep breath. "I do seem to recall something about that," she muttered. "But I thought you were talkin' about a goldfish or hamster or something. I wasn't expecting a rat!"

"Sorry, I didn't realize she'd bother you." Alley opened the door of the carry cage and scooped the cream-and-brown rodent into her hand. "I used to have pet mice and gerbils when I was a kid, and you never minded those. A rat isn't _that_ much different."

"There are some people who would disagree with that assessment," Charley replied around a dry chuckle. "Just … keep her in your room, okay?"

"Sure, I wasn't planning on letting her run loose in the building or anything. Want to hold her? She doesn't bite," Alley offered, and added a teasing, "You're not _squeamish_, are you?" when her cousin hesitated.

"Don't be silly," Charley snorted as she accepted the squirming bundle of fur, who proceeded to scramble up her arm and crawl across her shoulders. She squeaked and hunched when she felt cold little paws and twitching whiskers tickle the back of her neck, before Alley reached out to pluck Mercedes from her opposite shoulder. "It's just I know some guys who … _really_ don't like rats. Guess I grew a bit biased without even realizing it."

"Awww, who could not like this adorable little face?" Alley cooed as she leaned in and nuzzled her nose against Mercedes's muzzle. She got a lick in response, and Charley chuckled. "Okay, she's cute, I'll admit it. Now come on in and let me show you the place. Hope you don't mind crashing on the couch for a day or two. Still haven't gotten a bed into the spare room yet."

"Hey, after three nights of cheap roadside motel rooms, I'd be willing to sleep on the _floor_ at this point. It's probably cleaner than any of those beds were."


	2. Two

Chapter Two

Charley woke to the scent of fresh coffee and what smelled like … baked oatmeal, which was one scent she hadn't experienced since leaving home. She sniffed the air and padded into the kitchen, finding Alley already at the table, sipping from a mug that looked like it contained more milk than actual coffee. Her hair was piled in a messy bun atop her head, and she wore a pair of tiny boxer shorts and a tank top for pajamas. Charley wondered if she ought to warn her about her sleeping attire in future. Last thing she needed was her boys to get an eyeful of her cousin dressed like that. Vinnie would be incorrigible! And poor, modest Modo would most likely have a stroke. Throttle, well … that guy was such an emotional enigma, he could probably go either way.

"This smells _good_." Charley inhaled deeply, pulling back the dishtowel draped over a pan of steaming oatmeal. "Your mom's recipe?"

"Naturally."

"Did I know I even had ingredients to make this?"

"Doubt it. I pulled 'em from the back of your pantry. They're probably expired, so if we die of food poisoning, I apologize ahead of time," Alley teased.

"Funny."

"By the way, I _have_ to know. I was digging through your freezer and … do you have some sort of a hotdog fetish or something? And don't even get me started on all the root beer in the fridge."

"Ah, yeah." Charley smiled sheepishly. "I've got some friends and they kind of live on the stuff. So, I keep the place well-stocked for their visits."

"Hmm." Alley sipped her coffee. "Are these the same 'friends' who are unfairly bigoted toward rats?"

"Oh, stop it." She chuckled as she cut a large square of the oatmeal. "They're good guys. They've just … had some major issues with rat infestation at home, so they're kinda on bad terms with the whole lot of 'em. Besides that, the boys are really looking forward to meeting you, so maybe try and play nice, huh?"

"The boys, is it? Hey. You're not trying to set me _up _or anything, are you?" Alley regarded her with a teasing glimmer in her eye.

Charley laughed outright. "Trust me, kid. I doubt these guys are anywhere _close _to your type."

* * *

Charley usually closed the garage on Sundays, so she and Alley spent the day furniture shopping for the spare room. They managed to find a decent bed and a three-drawer dresser, which Alley insisted on paying for despite Charley's offer to buy. "I've been working since I was fifteen, so I've got a decent amount of money saved. And since I'm attending school mostly on scholarships, I can afford to blow a little," she said.

"You're gonna have to blow more on decent clothes for yourself in a couple of months," Charley reminded her. "You aren't exactly packed for winter weather, you know."

"Hmmm, winter. You know, I don't think I remember what that looks like."

Charley smirked. "Well, for starters, the temperature actually drops below sixty-five degrees. And then when it gets cold enough, there's this stuff called snow that falls, and you'll freeze your ass off in it if you don't get some proper outdoor clothes. I don't think a tank top and Daisy Dukes are gonna cut it."

She eyed Alley's ensemble, again reminding herself to have a talk with her cousin about her wardrobe choices around the guys. Alley was already drawing enough attention from every male who passed them. They all gawked openly at the slender young woman, whose golden-tanned skin was complimented nicely by the white short-shorts and baby-pink camisole top she wore. Her colorful hair was still pulled into its bun, revealing the delicate tattoo of a blue and purple butterfly gracing the back of her neck. In mid-August the Chicago streets were stifling with heat, but she seemed unaffected, having grown up in a near-tropical climate for almost a decade. Charley envied her.

"Well, lets get this stuff back to the garage," she sighed, closing the rear gate of her pickup. "It's almost supper time."

"Question. How the hell are we going to get all this up into the apartment?" Alley asked. "Will it even fit through the trap door?"

"There's a fire escape outside your window, actually, and the window itself is pretty large. If we have to, we can disassemble the bed frame and dresser and carry them up in pieces."

"All by ourselves?" Alley groaned, not liking the idea at all.

"Don't worry. I'll be enlisting some manual labor to help. They'll be here first thing tomorrow."

* * *

As she'd expected, Vinnie, Modo, and Throttle were less than thrilled with the idea of hefting heavy furniture up a rickety fire escape. Even the promise of root beer and hotdogs didn't cease Vinnie's grumbling … although the promise of finally getting to meet Alley did.

Within an hour of calling, Charley heard their bikes rumble up to the garage, passing the recently-installed sensor that automatically opened the wide metal doors; a bell installed above the doors went off, loudly announcing the arrival of customers. It also doubled as a fire alarm. Such a handy system, this was. Charley wished she'd thought of installing it years ago. She'd have probably saved herself a lot of trashed garage doors due to overenthusiastic entrances by a certain trio of mice.

"Hey, guys. Right on time," she called from the ladder.

Vinnie hopped off his bike, pulling his helmet off. He had a funny look on his face. So did the other two, for that matter. "Sweetheart, what the hell is that … that _thing_ parked out front?" he demanded, his tail twitching.

Charley blinked as she climbed down to the garage. "What thing?" She glanced outside, and then it dawned on her. She had to laugh at the matching expressions of disgust on their furry faces. "What, you never seen a VW Bus before?"

"It's … it's…" Vinnie was clearly at a loss for words.

"Colorful?" she supplied helpfully, her lips still twitching.

"I'd have gone with 'eye-gouging', but yeah," Throttle replied.

"Who would actually _own_ something like that? I'm embarrassed just to look at it," Modo added.

Charley raised an eyebrow at him. "My cousin."

His eye widened and he gulped. "Er … meanin' no disrespect to Alley Ma'am or anything…"

"Relax," she chuckled. "Alley has some … unique tastes, that's all. I'm inclined to agree with your description, but don't tell her I said that."

"You gonna just leave it sit out there? It'll probably drive away business," Vinnie snorted. "No self-respectin' biker would be caught dead in a garage with _that_ sitting in front of it."

"And yet, here you are." She pulled a face at his sheepish look. "It arrived almost dead in the water, so it ain't going anywhere for awhile. Although if you macho mice could help me push it into the garage sometime today, I'd be grateful. I need to check the engine over when I get a little free time."

"Be glad to help," Modo offered.

"Great. But, first order of business. Give me five minutes and then come on up. I gotta go give Alley a heads-up about your arrival."

"You did tell her about us, right?" Throttle asked.

"Weeell…"

"Charley-girl!"

"Look, there is no way todescribe three walking, talking alien mice without coming across as sounding bat-shit crazy," Charley huffed. "I'll warn her, okay? But she's gotta see for herself, or she'll never believe it."

The trio glanced at each other as Charley disappeared up the ladder. Well. _This_ was bound to get interesting.

* * *

"Hey, Alley Cat?" Charley poked her head into the bedroom. Her cousin was seated cross-legged on the floor, feeding Mercedes a slice of apple with peanut butter spread over it. "Is that healthy?" she asked wryly.

"A little treat every once in awhile won't kill her. She's had a long trip." Alley scooped the rat up, kissed the top of her little head, and deposited her into a rather impressive three-tiered cage sitting in the corner. "What's up?"

"Oh, the guys are here. Wanna come meet them?"

"Sure!" Alley jumped up, but stopped when she found her way blocked. "Okay, what?" she asked, noting the uneasy expression on the other woman's face.

"I need to warn you … the guys are a little … _unusual_," Charley hedged.

"How so?"

"Well, they look a little different."

"Such as?"

Charley thought for a moment. "Excessive body hair?" she offered after a moment.

"Okay, so they don't wax. Not like I've never seen that before." Alley giggled. "Hello, I practically lived on the beach! You'd be amazed at the amount of back hair I've seen over the years." She shuddered delicately.

"Not exactly what I meant." Charley was clearly at a loss. She glanced over at the cage and brightened. "Think of Mercedes!" she exclaimed. "Only … male. And a lot taller. With more muscle. And biker clothes."

"What, you're telling me you've got giant biker rats in your living room? Better call the exterminator!" Alley laughed and ducked under Charley's arm, heading down the short hallway to the living room … where she came to a screeching halt and gaped in stunned wonder at the three furry … _creatures_ standing by the trap door.

"Charley. Y-you've got … _giant biker rats_ in your living room!"

Charley groaned and slapped a hand over her eyes. "Whoa boy. _Now_ you've gone and done it," she groaned, not sure if she was talking to Alley, or herself.

Alley squeaked and hastily backpedaled when the huge gray rat with a metal arm stepped forward, its single red eye taking on a demonic glow. "Rats!" it growled. "My mama didn't-"

"_Easy_ there, big guy," the one covered in tawny gold fur hastily cut in, his voice full of warning. "She doesn't know."

"Yeah, simmer down, Modo, you're scarin' the poor kid!" The last one to speak had glossy white fur and a metal plate covering half his face. He offered a reassuring smile to the ashen-faced woman, who merely moved further back until she bumped into her cousin.

"Alley Cat?" Charley shook her shoulder gently. "_Breathe_, honey. It's okay."

Alley shook her head slowly. "Jiminy _Christmas_, Charley," she uttered softly. Right before her eyes rolled back into her head, and she fainted dead away.


	3. Three

_Thank you for the reviews so far. Glad to know people seem to like it._

_On the advice of a reviewer, I went back and did some heavy revision to this chapter, so I don't "head hop" quite as much. Hopefully, it's an improvement all around._

* * *

Chapter Three

Charley suddenly found herself grappling with a hundred and twenty pounds of dead weight. "Fantastic," she grunted, hefting Alley's slumped form in her arms. "Way to make a first impression, you lunkheads. One of you care to help me out here?"

The mice snapped out of their stupor and Vinnie hurried forward, scooping up the unconscious woman and carefully depositing her onto the worn couch that had been made up as a bed. "What can I say?" he preened. "No woman can resist this studly bod! They're just overcome by my sheer awesomeness."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, pal. Maybe someday, someone'll believe it."

Vinnie pouted and whipped his tail at his snickering bros. "So what'll we do with Sleeping Beauty here?"

"Will she be all right?" Modo hovered over the couch, looking worried. "I didn't mean to scare the little lady like that."

"It's okay, big guy." Charley patted his arm. "Give her a few minutes. She'll come around."

"Maybe we should clear out before that happens," Throttle suggested.

"She's gotta get used to you sometime. Better now than never. But … maybe give her some space, huh?" Charley eyed the three hovering mice with amusement as they hastily backed away from the couch. And then she bit back a curse when the bell went off in the garage. She checked the wall clock and sighed. "Not even opening time. Guess I forgot to turn off the sensor."

"Got a customer?" Throttle asked.

"Seems like it." She looked torn. "I hate to leave Alley alone like this, after what happened…"

"Want us to hang around until she wakes up?"

"I dunno if that's such a good idea. All three of you might be too much for her."

"So, one of us stays and the others come back later. Someone needs to explain things to her."

"I'll do it!" Vinnie volunteered eagerly.

"We need to _reassure_ her. I don't wanna come back and find her curled up in a whimpering little ball in the back of a closet," Charley snorted.

"Hey!" he protested over more snickers.

"I'd do it," Modo said slowly, "but I guess I sorta blew it a bit. I'd probably just scare her again." His ears drooped and he looked so dejected that Charley gave him a hug.

"She'll get over it. It's half my fault, anyway. I should've thought out what I told her a bit more." She turned to Throttle. "Aside from Modo, you're the calmest and most diplomatic. You're probably the best choice in the matter."

"Swell," Throttle sighed, settling back into an armchair to wait. Well, it beat lugging furniture up a fire escape, at least.

* * *

He was bored.

Nope. Scratch that. He was _really_ bored. He was starting to regret ever agreeing to this whole babysitting gig, especially since there were so many more interesting things he could've been doing. Like flossing his teeth, or picking the lint out from under his toenails. He heaved a heavy sigh and switched positions, folding one leg across his knee and resting his chin on his fist. The fingers of his other hand drummed an impatient rhythm against the armrest of the chair he'd been sitting in for _way_ too long.

Twenty minutes had already passed, and Alley was still out for the count. He shot her an irritated glance, wondering—not for the first time—how two such completely different people couldcome from the same family. Sure, Charley had been afraid of them, too, but she hadn't fainted like some delicate little dewdrop. She'd threatened to knock his head off when he got too close! Now _that_ was someone he could admire.

He sighed again, putting some extra _oomph_ into it, in the hopes of drawing the little princess out of her slumber. No such luck. He pouted, then decided that, since he was sitting here, he might as well take a closer look. So, he slid off the chair and knee-walked over to the couch, where he proceeded to give his charge a critical once-over.

Sure. Watching a lady sleep might be considered sort of stalkerish and creepy by some people, but some people weren't there, and Alley was far more interesting to look at than the wall. He had to admit; she was kind of pretty, for a wimp. Charley hadn't been kidding about her cousin's _unique tastes_, though. She looked like a dead rainbow. Bright colors streaked through her pale knot of hair. Each of her fingernails was painted with a different shade of glittery polish, and a purple butterfly was tattooedon her right hand between her thumb and forefinger. The fingers of her left were decorated with silver rings. So were her ears—two piercings on the left, one on the right—and crystalstars and a moon dangled from the tiny hoops.

Her face was made up, too. Smokey eyelids, thickened lashes, and a shiny, pink gloss slicked across her mouth. Throttle found the whole concept of makeup strange. Charley almost never wore it, and of course no female mouse _could_ wear it because of the mess it would make of their fur. It clearly wasn't practical, but the affect _was_ rather alluring. Especially the way those full, pink lips glistened, drawing his attentionalmost against his will.

It was probably a _good_ thing that Alley chose that moment to finally rejoin the land of the living.

Throttle bit back a yelp and all but scrambled back into his chair, sitting with hands folded primly in his lap, the very picture of innocence as the girl slowly stirred and opened her eyes. She blinked at the ceiling for a moment, then scowled and muttered to herself, "What a bizarre dream. That's the last time I mix expired cream into my coffee."

Throttle chuckled despite himself, and the sudden noise made Alley yip and sit up … a little too quickly, apparently. She gripped the back of the couch for a moment, before cautiously taking a quick glance around. And Throttle suddenly found himself looking at the biggest blue eyes he'd ever seen. They were like crystals, clear and bright and piercing.

Unfortunately, so was Alley's voice. Which she demonstrated by opening her pretty pink lips and letting loose a screech that made his teeth vibrate in the back of his skull. He cringed into his seat, clapped his hands to his ringing ears, and wondered how such a big noise could come out of such a small woman.

"Lower the volume, lady! I'm not deaf," he grumbled. _Yet._

She responded by attempting to burrow into the back of the couch in a bid to get as far away from him as possible. Throttle was insulted. Geez, you'd think he had _fleas_ or something, the way she was acting! But, as the last thing he wanted to do was make her pass out again, he gathered all the patience he could muster and held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Easy, Sweetheart," he crooned in his softest voice. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just here to make sure you're okay."

Alley glanced wildly around the empty apartment. "_Charley!_" she bellowed.

Throttle winced. So much for not going deaf. "She's in the garage. A customer came in or she wouldn't have left you alone. She'll be back in a bit," he explained, still keeping his voice as low and soothing as possible. He didn't get it; he'd been told on more than one occasion that his voice could make any female (and possibly some males) swoon right into his arms. Hell, he'd used it on Carbine on more than one occasion in the past, with _spectacular_ results. But for some reason, it just didn't seem to be working right on Alley.

Talk about a blow to the ego.

Alley had given up yelling and was now curled up in the corner of the couch, using the afghan like a flimsy shield. "Wh-what are you?" Her voice quavered, and she looked ready to burst into tears.

He sighed. Great. The _last_ thing he needed was a crying, hysterical woman on his hands. The _non_-crying version was bad enough. "My name is Throttle Thorneboy. I'm a mouse, not a rat. I come from the planet Mars." He gestured to the red antenna atop his head.

Alley's eyes slowly followed the gesture, studying the appendages, before lowering to look the rest of him over. "A … Martian mouse."

"Yep."

She chewed on her lip for a moment, before asking, "Weren't there … three of you?"

Oh, yeah. He'd almost forgotten about them. "Ah, yeah. My bros, Modo Maverick and Vincent Van Wham. We, uh, decided it was probably better to wait a bit before proper introduction. Until, you know, things got explained a bit more. They'll be back later."

Alley didn't look particularly happy to hear it. "Why are you in Chicago? And how did you meet my cousin?"

"That's kind of a long story," he sighed.

She frowned. "You don't want to tell me?"

"It's more like … it'd probably be easier if I_show__ed_ you." He eased off the chair and crept closer, hesitating when she edged away. "May I?" He pointed to his antenna. "I can transmit my memories through these, from my mind straight into yours. It'll be faster than talking."

Her eyes widened. "You're telepathic?"

He sought to reassure her before she started screaming again. "In a sense. We can't transmit direct thought unless we're in physical contact. But we are empathic, capable of picking up on heightened emotion from a distance." He peered over the rim of his specs and met her eyes. "You don't have to be afraid. I promise it won't hurt you. You can ask Charley; I once used the same method on her and she's never suffered any lasting ill-effects."

Alley hesitated another second, then took a deep breath, and nodded once. She closed her eyes, startled a little when he nudged her chin up and gripped the back of her head. He pressed his antenna to her temples and opened his mind. She jerked, but he'd been expecting that and held her still, knowing the sudden explosion of information pouring into her head would be a bit overwhelming to a human. He kept the stream slow and steady and mentally explained what she was seeing, and she gradually relaxed as understanding replaced fear. He showed her everything that had happened, from the complete strip-mining of Mars by the Plutarkians, to the present struggle to prevent Limburger from doing the same thing to Earth.

It only took a few minutes, and when he finally withdrew, Alley opened her eyes and stared at him, looking stunned. "Wow," was all she said.

"Yup." He chuckled. "That about sums it up."

She shook her head. "Well, I guess that explains why half of Chicago looks like a war zone." She eased back, drawing her knees up to her chin. "Does this happen a lot? With the whole thwarting evil and … blowing up that guy's tower and such?"

"Once or twice a month," Throttle replied. "Usually depends on how fast old Cheese Head can rebuild. Although it's been pretty quiet lately, which makes me think he's up to something. His tower's probably due for another toppling any day now."

"And Charley is dragged into this danger _how_ often?"

Nope. Alley definitely did _not_ sound happy about the casual way he spoke of wanton destruction.

"Easy, Alley-girl. That's what we're here for, to make sure nothing happens to her," he tried to reassure her.

"But she's been kidnapped a few times already. I saw it in your head."

He pouted. "But we've always gotten her back again! It isn't like we _willingly_ let her go charging into danger. We try to leave her behind where it's safe, but she's pretty stubborn. You should see how well she handles a rocket launcher, though."

Alley did _not_ look impressed.

Throttle decided it was probably time to change the subject. "So, uh, Charley-girl tells us you're here to attend school," he began awkwardly, after a few long moments of silence.

She blinked. "Yes. College."

Aaaand, apparently she wasn't much of a talker. Or maybe she just didn't want to talk to _him_. While Charley had warmed right up to the trio—He supposed saving her life repeatedly within the first few hours of meeting her probably had something to do with that—Alley still looked like she was ready to head for the hills.

For the love of Mars, what did it take to get this girl to relax? She was wound tighter than Vinnie on a sugar binge! Throttle drummed his fingers on the armrest again, considered whether he ought to go drag Charley back up, or even call his bros back … anything so he didn't have to be in this supremely awkward situation all by himself.

And then, a long, low growl greeted his sensitive ears. Alley blushed and clapped her arms across her stomach. He had to chuckle at the embarrassment on her face. "You hungry, huh?"

"No shit, Sherlock," she grumbled. "I didn't get around to breakfast yet."

He raised an eyebrow. _Finally._ A spark of something other than quivering terror. They were making progress! "You can go ahead and eat," he offered gallantly. "I don't care."

She slowly got to her feet. "You, um, you don't have to stay here. If you, you know, have other places you need to be." She sounded so _hopeful_.

And she'd just handed him the out he'd been so desperately wishing for! Why wasn't he scrambling to _take _it?

Maybe it was because he felt just a _bit_ offended that she was still so eager to get rid of him.

Or maybe he was too distracted by the second tattoo he'd just spotted on the back of her neck; a larger, more colorful version of the butterfly on her hand.

Then again, even that wasn't nearly as distracting as the way the thin strap of her fluttery, lacy, very girly top kept trying to slip down her shoulder. Or the way the tight black jean shorts she wore under it hugged her hips and butt. He gulped and quickly dropped his gaze, then blinked. Good grief, even her _toenails_ were painted. A bright, glossy purple that matched the color of her shirt.

"Do … uh … do you want some?"

Throttle guiltily jerked his eyes back up to Alley's; apparently he'd been staring just a _little_ too hard. She had set a glass casserole dish full of … something unfamiliar on the table, and was now regarding him with a questioning look. His nose twitched as the scent of cinnamon tickled his senses. "Sure," he agreed, before common sense could catch up with his brain. "Er, what is it?"

She tilted her head. "It's baked oatmeal. You've never eaten oatmeal before?"

"Can't say I have. We don't have oatmeal on Mars."

"Yes, but … Oh. You're why Charley keeps the fridge packed with soda and hot dogs, huh?"

He grinned. "Yeah. Good stuff, that. Can't get that on Mars, either."

She considered. "Is that really _all_ you eat? That can't be good for you."

"Hasn't killed us yet," he replied flippantly.

She snorted. "Give it time. I'm sure your heart will give out eventually."

He scoffed and chuckled, "Nah, we're made of stronger stuff than _that_."

Apparently realizing she was fighting a losing battle, Alley didn't bother to reply as she cut two large squares of the oatmeal and put them into shallow bowls. While they heated in the microwave, she dug around in the fridge and withdrew a fresh gallon of milk and a can of whipped cream. "I take mine with milk and cream," she told him. "You can try it with or without."

"Can't say I've ever had milk, either," he admitted, eyeballing the bottle with distaste.

She gaped. "Seriously? Not once?"

"There aren't a lot of milk-producing mammals on Mars," he explained. "Aside from us mice. And the rats. And the sand raiders. And maybe one or two other species that are usually too busy trying to eat us to hold still long enough to let someone … eh…"

"Milk them?"

"Yeah. Ugh."

She actually cracked a _smile _at that. Her teeth were shiny white, but a little crooked. She pulled a small glass out of the cabinet and poured it half-full of milk, offering it to him. He blinked at it, peered over his shades with a raised eyebrow. She raised hers in silent challenge. "Just try it. This came from a cow, incidentally."

"And that makes it better … how?" But he accepted the glass, because he was _finally_ getting her to relax and didn't want to ruin it by being rude. Took a cautious sip. Let it roll around in his mouth a bit before swallowing. It was … not as horrible as expected. But it was an odd texture; kind of thick and creamy, with a faintly sweet taste. He wasn't sure if he liked the texture or not, and he wasn't used to drinking anything that wasn't carbonated aside from water.

"So?"

"Eh. I think I prefer the root beer." But he finished the glass in two more gulps, because she was smiling at him again.

Her grin widened. "You've got a little…" She gestured at her mouth; he raised his hand and was embarrassed to find a ring of cream soaking the fur on his muzzle. "Don't worry. Milk mustaches are pretty normal for the uninitiated," she teased, taking the heated oatmeal from the microwave and sliding one of the bowls across the table to him. She added a bit of milk and a healthy dollop of whipped cream on top of hers, and dug in.

He followed her example and took a cautious bite; he _had_ tried different Earth foods in the past, but most of them tended to be fried, grilled, and heavily seasoned. This, however, was surprisingly good. A faint flavor of cinnamon and what he assumed was the oats; without the milk and cream to sweeten it, it would have been pretty bland, actually. But it was warm, and filling. A good staple food (although _still _not as good as hot dogs). "That wasn't bad," he told her when he finished. "Thanks for the grub."

"Sure." She cleared the dishes, carrying them to the sink. He helped by putting the food back in the fridge, snatching a root beer with his tail before closing the door. He felt Alley's gaze on him, and found her watching his actions with a look of fascination. He set the root beer on the counter, then used his tail to turn on the faucet and grab the bottle of dish soap to squeeze some into the filling sink. Her eyes followed his every move.

"It's … prehensile?" she asked after a moment.

"You sound surprised."

"Well, uh, I guess because earth rodents don't have prehensile tails."

"Well, I'm a _bit_ different from an earth rodent," he sniffed, crossing his arms.

"Yes, you clearly are." She bit her lip and turned to the sink to begin washing out the bowls. He waited; he could feel her curiosity tickling along his that the fear was fading, it was inevitably kicking in. "So, uh, can you do anything with that tail, or are you limited with its ability?" she asked after a moment. "I mean, is it very strong?"

"Strong enough to lift a fully-grown mouse. Or a human," he replied. Although he wouldn't have chosen to use _himself_ as a topic, at least she was starting to open up and talk. "Think of it as a third arm, or something. Losing a tail impacts a mouse as much as losing an arm or leg would impact a human."

She nodded, stacking the dishes in the drainer beside the sink. "And it doesn't hurt to lift something that heavy? I mean, your tail is attached directly to your spine, right? It doesn't put excess strain on your back or anything?"

"We develop very strong muscles from a very young age. Our backs are well-padded, don't worry." Throttle was surprised by Alley's blunt questioning. Charley had never asked them such things, in all the years she'd known them. Perhaps she felt such questions were too personal. _He_ rather felt they were too personal, but he supposed he could put up with it. At least she was no longer screaming, or crying, or attempting to throw blunt objects at his head.

"Hey, guys. Anyone here?" Charley's voice drifted from the direction of the living room, making them both jump in surprise.

Throttle felt a rush of relief at her appearance. It was about time! "In here," he called, and a moment later she appeared in the doorway. She took everything in with a raised eyebrow, then tossed him a catty grin. "Well, isn't _this_ the cozy little domestic scene. Getting along, are we?"

He was glad for fur at times like these, when it felt like his whole head might erupt in flame. "Sure. Piece of cake." He shrugged, attempting to affect casual aloofness. "She fed me and everything."

"There's still some oatmeal left in the fridge if you want any," Alley put in. "I can make more tomorrow, if you like. I bought fresh ingredients yesterday."

Charley straightened, looking back and forth between Alley and a highly-embarrassed mouse. "Wait. You fed Throttle," she repeated.

Alley blinked at her. "Uh-huh."

"You fed him _oatmeal_."

Throttle scowled at her; she ignored him.

"Yeeeees," Alley replied slowly, looking confused. "And half a glass of milk."

Charley slumped against the counter, one hand dramatically clutching her heart. "I don't believe it. I've spent over _two years_ trying to get these macho mice to eat anything resembling health food, and you somehow manage it within the first half hour of meeting them!" She reached across the counter and clutched Alley's hands in hers. "Please. I _must_ know your secret!"

Throttle growled, trying to sound annoyed despite the grin that kept twitching at his mouth. He whipped his tail around to give Charley a playful smack on the rear, making her yelp and laugh. "Don't go getting any ideas, now. I was just being polite!"


	4. Four

_Important AN 1. Hey there! In case you missed it, I'd gone back and done some heavy revision on chapter three. The idea is basically the same, but I rewrote to get the head-hopping under control. I think it's better now, but feel free to judge for yourselves. Also, thanks for the encouraging reviews. I appreciate them all. Keep 'em coming!_

_Important AN 2: I've decided that in my best interests of not driving myself insane, I'm going to time-warp a bit and move this story into the 21st century. It still takes place somewhere in the first series, just a decade later than originally aired. So if I should happen to mention things like smartphones and digital cameras and cable internet, don't remind me that most of these things didn't exist yet in 1996. I'm well aware of that. That's why I'm moving the timeline up, because I don't feel like going to the trouble of researching the technology that did exist in 1996. Thank you._

_Important AN 3: I edited and re-edited this chapter before posting, but I still tend to miss typos and such that the computer doesn't pick up on. If you happen to find any feel free to point them out. I'll go back and fix 'em._

* * *

Chapter Four

Alley watched Charley and Throttle banter back and forth, feeling as if she'd somehow stumbled into an episode of the Twilight Zone. She just couldn't get past how … well, how _alien_ Throttle was, yet her cousin was laughing and teasing and treating him just like she'd treat any longtime friend or family member. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

She considered making a strategic retreat to her bedroom while the pair was distracted, until Throttle suddenly perked up, his head cocking to one side as his ears twitched back and forth. Alley bit her lip to hold in a smile; he reminded her of Mercedes when something had caught her attention. "Whoops," he announced a moment later. "Party's over, ladies. Looks like the bros are back."

He'd barely finished speaking before the distinct rumble of motorcycles pulling into the garage—heralded by the clang of the welcome bell—announced their arrival. Alley glanced longingly in the direction of her room, but Charley (the traitor) grabbed her by the arm and steered her into the living room, instead, forcing her into the very same chair Throttle had been sitting in. Alley's skin crawled, imagining she could feel the prickle of shed fur against her back and legs.

"Maybe you could go warn them to come up slow and steady and not like a herd of elephants, huh?" Charley suggested. Throttle saluted playfully and leaped through the trap door into the garage.

She turned to her cousin and offered an encouraging smile. "Come on, Alley Cat. Relax! Throttle isn't so bad, is he?"

The jury was still out on that one, but Alley had to admit she'd been getting used to the golden mouse before her cousin had come back. There was just something pleasant about his voice. It was kind of soft and husky, like smoke and velvet in her ears. She liked _that_ about him, at least. "I guess not," she sighed. "He's pretty calm." She frowned, remembering. "But … that big gray one…"

"Modo? Oh, don't let his size fool you. He's a pussycat!"

Alley barked a laugh. "Oh, sure. A pussycat. The big, angry, _man-eating_ kind."

Charley pulled a face at her. "Don't be ridiculous. Look, there's a lot of bad blood between the martian mice and rats, and mistaking one for the other is sort of an insult on their planet, but Modo feels bad for scaring you. Give him a chance, okay? He's really a big sweetheart when you get to know him. He's like … one of those old-fashioned southern boys who always holds chairs out for the ladies and speaks like a gentleman. And he _really_ loves his mama. You can't go wrong with a guy who loves his mama, right?"

"I dunno. Norman Bates really loved _his_ mama."

"Alley Davidson!" Charley choked on a laugh. "Stop it! I'm trying to be serious, here!"

Alley huffed and relented. "Well, what about that little white one?"

"Vinnie?" Charley chuckled uneasily, shaking her head. "Hmm. What can I say about Vincent Van Wham?"

"Anything you like, Sweetheart! My stunning good looks? My sparkling personality? Pick a subject!" A grinning white-and-silver face appeared like magic over the back of Alley's chair. Alley squawked and promptly flung herself _out_ of it, landing on the floor with a thud before flipping over and crab-walking straight into Charley's legs.

Charley slapped a hand to her forehead. "_Oh_, for the—Vinnie! Could you _try_ not to give my cousin a nervous breakdown?" she snapped, shooting him a black look amid sniggers from his comrades.

He grinned sheepishly, easing around to take Alley's place in the chair. "Sorry, Sweetheart."

"Does he always call you sweetheart?" Alley whispered.

Charley patted her shoulder. "He calls _everyone_ sweetheart. It's kind of his thing," she replied with an eye-roll. "You'll get used to it."

Modo approached slowly, and Alley eyed him as he towered over her, giving her a polite nod. She nodded back and fought the urge to scramble under the couch. Mostly because there was no way she would fit.

"Just wanted to say, I'm awful sorry for scarin' you like I did," Modo rumbled. "Me an' rats don't get along so well, but it wasn't right, losin' my temper like that. My gray-furred mama always said the first impression's the lastin' one, an' I guess I didn't make such a great one on you. I'd like to set that straight, if I can."

Alley nodded absently, but she was hardly listening; her eyes had locked on the giant's right arm. It wasn't a flesh-and-blood limb. It was made of metal. It looked like one of those bionic arms that she'd only ever seen in science fiction movies. _Good grief, this isn't the Twilight Zone. It's turned into Star Trek,_ she thought, biting back the hysterical urge to giggle. "D-did a rat do _that _to you?" she asked instead … and jumped when Charley abruptly smacked her across the head.

Oh. That _had_ come out a little rude, hadn't it?

Modo glanced at his arm self-consciously. "Nah," he said, his voice calm. "Ol' Karbunkle's the one responsible for this."

She frowned. Now why did that name sound familiar? She thought for a bit, before remembering. "Oh, he's that freaky scientist guy," she murmured. "The one who looks like a mutant."

Charley gave her a surprised glance. "You've seen him?"

"Oh, yeah." Alley gestured to her head. "Throttle did that … mind-meld trick to show me what was going on. The same thing he did to you when you first met."

There was dead silence. Vinnie and Modo pinned a squirming Throttle with probing stares. "It's easier than tryin' to talk my way through everything," the golden mouse protested to their raised eyebrows. "There was a lot to cover, all right?"

"Hey, not judging, Sweetheart!" Vinnie held up his hands, his mouth twitching. "Just better hope Carbine doesn't find out."

"She won't find out. It wasn't like that, anyhow," Throttle growled.

Alley glanced at Charley, who looked as confused as she felt. "Am I missing something?" she whispered.

Modo overheard and glanced at them. "Well, directly touchin' minds like that is sorta intimate," he explained, tapping his temple. "It's useful if we're in a bad situation and need to exchange intel without gettin' caught, but for a male and female to join minds in a casual setting, it's kinda…" He trailed off, clearing his throat and taking a sudden fascination with the ceiling as he nervously scratched under his chin.

Luckily, Vinnie was there to take over. "That sorta stuff is usually reserved for the bedroom," he finished, grinning and waggling his eyebrows comically. "It's a fantastic way to increase the intimacy between mates during—"

"_Vincent._" Throttle, who was looking increasingly mortified, cut the white mouse off with a smack of his tail.

Alley glanced up at her cousin, still confused. Charley's face had turned pink, but her eyes were dancing with mischief as she turned around on the couch, resting her chin on her crossed arms and pinning the squirming mouse with a playful stare. "Throttle, you _dog_, you," she teased, her voice filled with laughter. "Puttin' the moves on us like that, and we never even suspected. I never knew you had it in you!"

Alley promptly choked as the meaning hit home, turning an accusing, slightly-horrified gaze to the golden mouse. "You were putting _moves_ on me?" she squeaked.

"_No!_" he yelled as the rest of them cracked up. "It wasn't _like_ that!" He groaned, wiping a hand over his face, under his field specs. "You guys are never gonna forget this, are you?"

"Hell, no, lover boy!" Charley blew him a playful kiss, which earned him a jealous glare from Vinnie and more laughter from Modo.

Alley abruptly decided that enough was enough, and scrambled to her feet. "I've gotta go unpack," she muttered, and beat a hasty retreat to her room before anyone could stop her. She slammed the door and slumped against it, sliding to the floor with a thump. Mercedes's snout appeared from the nest of wood shavings and shredded paper towels she'd burrowed into, whiskers twitching curiously. Alley crawled over to the cage and poked a finger through the bars to tickle the rat's nose. "Good grief, Mercy," she sighed. "What the hell did I get myself into?"

* * *

Alley hid in her room for an hour, paging through the picture scrapbooks she'd brought with her from home. She missed home. She missed her parents. She missed her friends. She even missed Chaz. She wished she had a phone so she could call Chaz, just to hear his voice. Then again, lately he didn't have much to say to her; he was still pissed that she'd broken up with him two weeks before leaving for Chicago.

She turned the album to a page filled with photos of herself and her friends; lounging on the beach; at a pool party in Yuri's back yard; her and Chaz cuddling under a blanket beside a bonfire…

She examined the closeup of her ex-boyfriend giving the camera a deadpan stare and a thumbs up, and wrinkled her nose. Well, maybe "pissed" was too strong a word. Chaz didn't get pissed. Mildly annoyed, maybe, when he could be bothered to care. That was the problem with Chaz. He was tall, he was handsome, he was well-mannered…

He had the personality of tile grout.

She'd met him not long after moving to Florida. They'd ended up in the same classes from sixth grade all the way through high school. As a junior, Alley had decided it was high time to get herself a decent boyfriend. She'd thought Chaz would make a good one. She really didn't know him that well—They tended to run with different crowds—but she'd been admiring him from afar for years, and he seemed like a nice, quiet sort of guy. The kind she could take home to the parents without worrying about Dad getting out the shotgun and chasing him around the country.

Also, she'd always been a sucker for a pretty face. And Chaz had a _very_ pretty face.

She'd been delighted when he agreed to date her. But it wasn't long before she discovered that he tended to agree about _everything_. He had no opinions of his own, and all the planning for their dates was usually left to her. Therefore, all the romancing that should have been _his_ job was left to her, too. He was chivalrous enough when they were together, bringing her flowers, opening her door, paying for their meals and such. But he never put any effort into actually wooing her. She was the one to initiate kisses, and if she tried to initiate anything more, he usually put a stop to it. Talk about a role-reversal!

And talk about a blow to the ego. It was more than embarrassing to constantly be rejected by your own boyfriend. He said it was because he'd been raised to respect a lady, and she supposed that was a valid enough reason (even kind of romantic in its own right), but in the back of her mind she always wondered if it was because she just wasn't attractive to him. If that was the case, then why not just break up with her and be done with it? She figured it was probably because doing so would require him to make an actual decision about something, and he just couldn't be bothered.

In the very end, she had finally decided that neither could she. But, she had to admit that part of her had hoped Chaz would beg her not to break up. It was an insane idea, of course. Long-distance relationships required a couple to put in actual effort, and Chaz didn't know the meaning of the word. When she'd informed him of her choice, his only response was, "If that's what you really want." As if he had no say in the matter at all!

Alley scowled and slapped the album shut, shoving it into a corner of the room. "What did I ever see in that walking doormat?" she grumbled to Mercedes, who proceeded to curl up and go back to sleep.

Her butt and legs had gone numb from sitting cross-legged on the floor for so long. She staggered to her feet and hobbled to the door, opening it a crack to listen outside. There was absolute silence. She peeked out, then crept down the short hallway to the living room. Charley and the mice were gone. In their place stood a pile of wooden parts that she recognized as the pieces of her furniture. They must have gone ahead and taken the bed and dresser apart to get them up from the garage. Alley felt momentarily guilty, knowing she should've helped. It _was_ her furniture, after all.

She laid on her stomach and peered down through the trap door, looking around the brightly-lit garage. She noticed her bus parked in an unused corner. And there was Charley, surrounded by a pile of car parts, working on hammering the dents out of a black door. "Are they gone?" she called.

Her cousin stopped hammering, turning to give her a hard stare. "For now," she replied. "They're coming back later, though. I promised them dinner and movies for their help."

"Oh." Alley carefully climbed down the ladder. Charley put down the hammer and turned to face her, folding her arms across her chest; Alley was suddenly reminded of her mother, radiating disapproval as if she'd just caught her sneaking in late after a party or something. "Okay, what?" she asked, mirroring Charley's stance.

"I don't appreciate the way you treated my friends," the redhead scolded. "They did their best to welcome you in their own way. They don't interact with a lot of humans, you know. It's not like there's proper etiquette for introducing two alien species to each other. Yeah, they're a bit startling at first, but I think you totally overreacted. The Alley _I_ remember was never such a shrinking violet."

"I—But you—And they—Well, what about _you_?" Alley sputtered, switching from shamefaced to defensive in two seconds. "Maybe I wouldn't have 'overreacted' if _you_ hadn't waited until _thirty seconds beforehand_ to tell me I was about to meet _giant talking alien mice_!"

Charley blinked, then cracked a small smile. "You make a good point," she conceded.

"Damn _straight_, I do." Alley's own lips were twitching despite the scowl she was trying so hard to keep in place. "I warned you _I_ was bringing a pet. The least you could've done was return the favor!"

Charley choked out a startled laugh. "Alley, don't _ever_ say something like that, especially in front of them! You'll offend them! They're _not_ animals, despite appearances. They're as much people as we are! Who just happen to possess tails and fur coats and hail from a different planet."

"I know that." Alley sighed, hopping up to sit on Charley's tool chest. "I've never seen Mercedes eat using dishes and silverware, after all."

"Alley Cat," Charley warned.

"Fine. No more cracks about pet mice."

"And promise you'll at least _try_ to get to know them. I mean, if it wasn't for them, most of this planet would've been strip-mined and shipped off to Plutark by now. They're really heroes, if you stop to think about it. They deserve a little respect."

"Okay, okay. I promise I'll give them another chance, and I won't even run screaming for the hills this time." At Charley's dubious look, she added, "Scout's honor!" and held up four fingers.

"That's the Vulcan peace sign, Alley."

"Pfft. Whatever."

Charley sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm so glad we had this little chat."

The colorful blond laughed and patted her on the shoulder. "Anytime, Charley-girl! What else is family for?"


End file.
